


Nightmares

by generictripe



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Drabble, Fatherly Love, Forgetting, Gen, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generictripe/pseuds/generictripe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Ice King remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

_Please forgive me for whatever I do,when I don’t remember you._

He sat up in bed with a start. Chills that had nothing to do with the fortress around him shook his frame. A nervous hand wounded its way into his beard. It had been a bad dream,something not uncommon to the Ice King. His sleeping hours were often plagued with horrible images of the pink-haired princess scoffing at him and him receiving a good kick to the face by a young human. Or was that what happened when he was awake?

Tired,the King rubs his eyes. It had been a long day before. His fingertips were nearly sore from the magic that had came from them. All in the name of stealing princesses. Because he _needed_ his princess. _What?_ A puzzled look crosses his face. Why in the world was his face wet? Had one of his penguins played a trick? He pauses in thought for a moment. _Tears? Why...?_ Then he gets a flash. Not one of the nude variety,but one of clarity.

There was a young girl in his dream,a spunky tiny thing. He remembered that he had hugged this little one tightly to his chest and she was just as cold as him. The Ice King brings his knees to his chest. How strange. But who knows about dreams? They are just nonsense. Almost as silly as the things he saw with his hazed vision.

The little girl's image swam in his mind. But as he tried to pin it down,it flew away. Like gripping at smoke. Without meaning to,the King reached his hands out. They were stark and blue and he could picture them holding a grey-skinned child's hand. But then it was pink. Then pale. Then the same blue as his own. There was no one. No child with slight hands and dark hair. No smart lady with glasses who he took out for Italian every other Saturday. There was no one but a very old man. The Ice King rolled over and had no dreams for the rest of the night. 


End file.
